Never The Twain Shall Meet
by oh-you-pretty-things
Summary: Post AWE. The reality of the familial situation upon Will's return to shore, ten years after the last time he saw Elizabeth, hits the Turners hard.
1. Young Will

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie franchise or any of the characters or dialogue associated with the film. They are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation.**

_AN: I wrote this because Allie requested it. Real life does not play out like a movie and there would be a degree of awkwardness between father and son after a ten year absence. I hope I can convey it. For the record, I am not happy with this. If you can see any stylistic flaws in this piece, I would appreciate it if you pointed it out. _

The sun streamed in through the window and danced like magic through his mother's hair making it seem like spun gold. She hummed along to a song he knew all too well. When she turned, smiling warmly as she had throughout his entire lifetime, she placed a bowl of steaming porridge in front of him. She sat, then, across from him smiling into her own porridge with a detached, almost dreamlike expression. Will felt distinctly happy at once, to be there with his mother, bathed in the warming sunlight; that is until he heard the heavy footfall of his father coming down the hallway behind him. Will's smile died at once and he swallowed the searing porridge too quickly, burning his throat. He daren't turn around for although his father had been living with them for a month now, young Will was, though he was loathed to admit it even to himself, _terrified_ of him. There was something daunting in his silence and in the way his eyes seemed to drink in every detail with unspoken scrutiny. Will was expecting him to find some sort of fatal flaw in the way his mother and he had lived during his absence.

His mother's smile widened as she lifted her eyes to his father, who stood surreptitiously behind Will, and he couldn't help but feel jealous and resentful towards him. For nearly ten years, there had been only Will and his mother – no one else. Now, this man, his _father_, who was brave and strong and everything Will was not, had taken her from him in an instant. Will was torn, truly. At first he had been overjoyed with the presence of his father, but quickly he came to realize that the sadness his mother had tried to hide from him throughout his entire life was suddenly gone with one fleeting smile from his father. One smile and her heart was whole. In his whole lifetime, he had been unable to make his mother truly happy. He should have been glad, but a strange boiling anger consumed him instead. For as much as he wanted to love his father, and he knew he should, he despised him as well. The reasons weren't clear for this, but mainly he felt as though his father had encroached upon what was _his_. And, yet, he made his mother happy and how could he deny her the happiness that he had known that she was missing?

Besides this unspeakable, inexplicable resentment, there was also a deep _fear_. His father was a _pirate_. He had stabbed the heart of Davy Jones and taken his place to ferry souls to the dead. Will should be proud to have such a devoted and brave man for a father. Will should be eager to learn all he can from him. And, yet, he found himself swallowing his blistering porridge down as quickly as possible to leave the room. So quickly, in fact, that he hadn't even noticed his father's eyes upon him.

"You should slow down, Will," his father's deep voice filtered through his ears and startled him. He looked up in wide-eyed fear.

"Yes, sir," he managed to whisper. His father's eyes faltered for a moment, some emotion creeping in unexpectedly, slyly. Sadness? Pirates don't tolerate sadness. Will took slow careful bites of his porridge.

His mother was silent, as she always was, as though she was physically unable to voice what she was thinking. In all Will's life, he had never known his mother to be unable to voice anything. She drove a hard bargain at the market with her fabrics, and she was relentless in general conversation. There was nothing that this woman could not have if she really had it in her mind to get it and Will admired that about his mother. Yet, in front of this man, this relative stranger to Will, she was struck with a stony silence. She opened her mouth to say something, but his father held up his hand to once again silence her. Was this how he expected them to be? Forever silent? Forever subservient to his hand motions and sad eyes? Anger boiled inside of Will, but fear kept it in check.

Will watched his father's back as he prepared his own porridge in the unending silence that took residence in their home. His father turned suddenly, deftly and paused for a moment, noticing Will's eyes upon him. When his father smiled slightly, Will looked away. He heard, rather than saw his father sit down beside him. His eyes turned in her general direction he caught sight of his mother's small smile.

"I have to go to the docks today," she said, her soft voice finally breaking the crisp silence. His father nodded slightly and took a spoonful of porridge. "Jack is bringing me a shipment of silk."

"Jack?" his father asked coolly. His spoon was poised midair, his expression dangerous.

"Yes, he had an exchange with the Empress," she continued, seemingly ignorant of his father's expression. As she continued, Will watched his father as he slid the spoon in his mouth in dreadful, lethal silence.

"They still recognize you as captain then?"

His mother laughed lightly. "No. No I gave that up a long time ago," she whispered, reaching a hand out to stroke Will's head and smiling softly.

"Oh," his father said, smiling lightly and looking a little lost. Will felt justified suddenly, as though he had won a small victory.

"But Jack brings me fabrics from all over the world," she continued. "He should be in port today."

"Shall I go with you?" he asked. His mother smiled in this secretly delighted way. Will knew that she wanted nothing more than for his father to go with her, knew that it would bring a little hop to her step and brightness to her eyes. However, her smile faltered and faded as though she had suddenly remembered something.

"But, the forge…"

There was something going on here that Will couldn't understand. Why didn't his mother just say that she wanted him to go with her? Why couldn't his father just _tell_ her that he would? Why were they dancing around each other madly?

His father nodded mutely. "Of course."

Again, that confining silence filled the room. Will looked from his mother to his father, unable to discern what was happening. His mother's face crumpled nearly imperceptibly and again that implacable anger welled up inside him.

"I'll go with you," he blurted sharply. He stared at his father's startled face, daring him to be angry. Instead, his father's face broke into a wide smile.

He leaned in towards Will, "Then I've nothing to fear, have I?"

Will was so startled by the unexpected praise that he could say nothing. He could simply stare at his father with his mouth agape. He felt his mother's hand in his hair and turned slowly. She was also smiling.

"Well, wash up and we'll be off."

Will did as he was bid, leaving his mother and father at the table. The silence behind him was deafening and he wondered how they could bear it. He turned, ready to scream at them both only to find their hands entwined, their eyes locked, the pair of them lost to the world. Without a word, Will headed out the cabin's door and slammed it hard behind him, the half-rotted wood creaking and knocking as it bounced off the door frame with the sheer force of his fury. He was halfway down the hill, kicking the high grass lividly, tearing it from the ground with cruel satisfaction, when he heard his mother calling his name, but he didn't stop until he heard his father's voice. He paused and turned around very slowly, just as they caught up with him.

"What?" he spat insolently, glaring openly at his father. Again, any hint of anger was gone from his father's face and he was lost in that vacant emotion so much like sadness. All Will wanted was for his father to say something, anything. He wanted to fight him, verbally, physically, any way he could.

"Will," his mother began, reaching for him. He turned to her then, wrenching his arm violently out of her reach.

"What?" he shouted. "Maybe I should go myself! Leave you two to whatever it is you're doing!"

Hot tears threatened at the corners of his eyes, burning and unforgiving, and he fought them fiercely.

"Will!" his father exclaimed. The tone and volume of his voice frightened Will and drained the anger from him. He looked at his father expecting harsh words and a strict punishment. "Apologize to your mother."

Will just stood there in the silence that his father loved so much, knowing that he was being insolent, knowing that he deserved the inevitable boxing of his ears, knowing that his mother deserved an apology. "No."

His mother remained fearfully silent and he daren't look at her on the chance that she was crying. He knew that she did. For a long time, she cried while his father was away. Night after night she cried. She thought that he was ignorant of her pain, of the pain _he_ had caused her, but he'd always known. His father simply stared at him, eyes narrowed suspiciously, contemplative with what action to which he should proceed. At length, when Will was feeling the last of his steely resolve melt away, his father spoke.

"Apologize to your mother." Each word was a crisp, hard command and Will raised his chin in defiance.

"I'm not yours to command!" he shouted. His father's expression surprisingly did not change. Will's heart was pounding. He had just openly defied the man he feared and hated and worshipped and adored.

"I am your father." Again, each word was crisp and pitiless. Here was the pirate captain ordering his crew. Did he view them as his crew? Did he love them at all? Will knew the tears were falling now, but he didn't care. He had nothing to say in defense, or rather, he had nothing to say that was worth the risk. Swallowing his pride and a choking sob, he turned to his mother, eyes on the trampled, green ground before her feet.

"I'm sorry, mother," he muttered with a shaking breath. Then he turned and ran down the hill, far away from his ever silent parents. His mother would find him by the docks, sobbing beneath them, pitiful in the wet sand; she always did.

Will didn't look back. He didn't see his father's face crumple, or the worried glance shared between husband and wife. All he knew at that moment was that he hated his father. Hated him for taking his mother. Hated him for his commands. Hated his silence. Hated his sad eyes. Hated his quiet anger. Hated him. But he hated him most because he didn't hate him. He hated him most because he couldn't help but love him.


	2. Will

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie franchise or any of the characters or dialogue associated with the film. They are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation.**

_AN: Part Two: Will's perspective. _

"Will, I…," Elizabeth started. Will shook his head, smiled weakly and nodded. She turned and ran down the hill after their son. Will watched her hair, curls of gold dancing in the wind and then disappearing beyond the hill, as she left. He swallowed and finally allowed his face to fall completely. Breathing deeply, he inhaled the fresh scent of the green grass mingled with lingering essence of sea spray, and closed his eyes. How he'd dreamed of returning to Elizabeth. How he'd expected sweet happiness to consume him every day. How very wrong he'd been.

Will turned slowly and walked beyond the quaint cabin that belonged to Elizabeth. He smiled wryly when he thought of how little he'd been able to give her. And Will. Ten years they'd survived without his support, why should it be any different now? But, God, he was trying. He'd nearly completed the forge, within in a few short months he'd have the entire smithy built and then, and only then, he would be able to finally provide for his family. His family: a self-sufficient wife and a boy who hated him.

Will picked up a brick and applied mortar. What need had they of him? Ten years of ferrying souls to the other side and dreaming of Elizabeth – he'd not done anything useful for _them_ during that ten years. He hadn't even really entertained the idea, the mere chance, that he was a father. Sure, it was possible, but it was also not something he was willing to spend time fantasizing about. Where had it all gone wrong, was the real question. At first, young Will had been excited and shy. The truth was that Will was feeling the exact same way. This was_his_ child, _his_ son that had grown up in the past nine years without him. What did he like? What was he like?

Will wasn't sure when the resentment had filed into the situation. Somehow, they'd never managed to make a concrete connection and the boy had grown rebellious with regards to Will, the absent father-figure who suddenly demanded authority. There was something else there, as well, something he couldn't quite place. He was more than aware that the boy didn't want to be near him at all, and so Will tried to stay out of his way. Will figured that he would come to him when he was ready. He was starting to wonder if he'd ever be ready.

And, Elizabeth was dancing these delicate circles around the two of them, desperately trying to cling to the tenuous thread of cohesiveness that held their unit together. It was hard on her, he knew. Maybe too hard. There were times when he wanted to wrap his arms around her and take all the difficulty of her life away. But, he couldn't, could he? She needed to sell her fabrics in the market because Will had nothing to offer. Nothing to give. Nothing to provide. Will also knew that this was the existence she was used to living. She didn't need him to provide for her. She didn't need him to do anything. She was so used to doing things alone that Will was afraid to even encroach upon her solitude. Did she enjoy it? He was too afraid to ask. Too afraid of the confirmation of his uselessness.

He worked at laying bricks for hours. He hadn't heard them return, he hadn't noticed the sun setting; he just worked on and on. It wasn't until he heard a familiar voice behind him that he stopped.

"You've got yourself a girl and still it's work, work, work all the time," the voice said. Will turned, wry half-smile on his lips, to see Captain Jack Sparrow leaning lazily against the back of the cabin, chewing noisily on an apple.

"You sure you're not a eunuch?"

Will stifled a laugh and ignored his question. "Jack," he said in way of a greeting. The men regarded each other in relative silence, save the juicy crunch of the apple. Will noted that Jack's hair was graying. Jack noted that Will was infinitely more guarded…about everything. Jack opened his mouth to speak when young Will came bursting out into the yard.

"Jack, I need to _show_ you this…"

The boy stopped, his delighted face falling at the sight of his father. Will's heart crumbled, pieces falling off into the blackness of his soul, and it was not lost on Jack. Will smiled weakly averted his eyes, and turned back to laying bricks, perhaps with a bit more zeal than was necessary.

"Perhaps, young William, you ought to show your father, too."

Will smiled in spite of himself. Jack was a good man, but unfortunately this was not a matter that would be fixed by the likes of Jack Sparrow. The dull ache of jealousy festered in Will's heart knowing now that Jack had been a part of Elizabeth's and Will's lives. Before it consumed him, he quenched it by reminding himself that if it weren't for Jack, he would not be here today. At least there had been someone for Elizabeth to turn to when she truly needed help. At least they hadn't been completely alone. Another voice interrupted the scene. Elizabeth.

"Well gents, dinner is served," she said, her voice holding an amused lilt. It was as though she were amazed with her own abilities at every meal. Will didn't understand why that would be, seeing as she had ten years of practice. Will turned to see young Will running inside under his mother's arm. Jack watched him go with an indiscernible expression.

"I'll just…wash up," Will offered to Elizabeth. She nodded happily and disappeared inside. It was strange how the small things could make her so pleased. Jack lingered behind, but Will avoided eye contact and headed for the well pump. He pumped a bucket full of water, which he used to quickly wash his hands and face.

"It's passing you by, mate," he heard Jack say behind him. Will turned, drying his face with his shirt.

"What is?"

Jack just shook his head sadly. "Life."

With that, Jack left him standing alone in the orange glow of the sunset-lit yard. Will glanced out towards the ocean; the unending plane that had been his home for the past ten years. In a small way he missed it, but such was the way of life. You were never happy with what you had. He entered the back hallway slowly and quietly, pausing for a moment in the doorway. There was laughter traveling down the hallway, and as it was every night, Will felt like a stranger in his own home. But, it wasn't _his_ home, was it? Mustering up courage, as he always did when faced with his family, he entered the kitchen, an automatic half-smile on his face.

Young Will avoided meeting his eye, as always; Jack looked upon him with sadness, and Elizabeth looked upon him with unfiltered adoration. There was a time when a look like that from Elizabeth would have sustained him for days on end. Or, when a touch from her, a simple, accidental brush of the hand, would have made his heart soar. He longed for those days again. Or, perhaps it wasn't that they were no longer here, but the content was different. It was those looks and those touches that sustained him even now…but, for how long?

Normally they would eat in silence, a crisp, unending silence that Will longed to break but never seemed to have the right words to break it, but with Jack here, silence was not an option. It wasn't long before Jack could no longer contain his questions.

"So, Will," he started. Both father and son looked up simultaneously. "Who is the Captain of the Flying Dutchman now?"

Young Will scowled almost imperceptibly and returned to poking his food derisively with his fork. Will smiled slightly and leaned back in his chair a bit, staring at his plate nostalgically.

"No one you know, Jack," he said at length. Young Will rolled his eyes and the motion was not lost on Will. Had he been expecting a story to compare with the wild fibs that Jack told? Jack scowled at Will. There was something calculating behind the older pirate's eyes; something that told Will that this good man was contemplating the evils of getting his hands on the heart.

"He's a good man, Jack."

Jack seemed to be startled by this and young Will's eyes were suddenly upon Will. He had been keeping his answers brief about the Dutchman, although he had to admit that Elizabeth was careful not to discuss it at any great length. Will was grateful in the sense that he had seen a number of grisly sights during those ten years, but he was also curious as to why she would tread so lightly around the subject.

"He was a fisherman. His ship had been attacked and crippled by pirates and dragged out to sea, the crew left for dead. I could…feel…that it wasn't his time and that's when I knew that Calypso was leaving me a hint."

"But, the curse?" Elizabeth blurted out suddenly.

Will smiled. "This was mere minutes before sunset."

Turning back to Jack, Will noticed his miserable expression. "Calypso chooses, Jack. Be satisfied she likes you enough to let you live," he paused for a moment, lost in reverie and remembrance. "Others were not so lucky."

At last, Jack nodded. "There are other ways to live forever," he mused.

"Live forever?" young Will asked suddenly, looking from Jack to his father in awe. Will again offered his gentle half-smile.

"Whot? You hadn't told him?" Jack asked indignantly. Elizabeth shook her head.

"There didn't seem to be a need," Will said softly.

"Oh? And, what else haven't you told him?"

Will rolled his eyes. "Jack," he said in warning.

"Fine, fine!" he said with flourish, standing up. "Mrs. Turner, or rather Your Majesty," he said taking a mock bow, "Dinner was exquisite as usual. Mr. Turner, you are as dull as ever. Young William, don't let your father's dull exterior fool you. Anyhow, Turners, I must return to my ship. It seems if I leave it for too long, it tends to disappear."

Jack glanced cagily out the window towards port and Will smiled genuinely.

"Must you go already, Jack?" Elizabeth asked, rising from her chair.

"The Pearl waits for no one, and seemingly, especially me," he replied, already half out the door. Young Will ran to the door after him. "Bye, Jack!"

Will stood up and stretched almost lazily. "There's still some light," he commented softly to Elizabeth. "I best make use of it."

Elizabeth nodded and Will turned to leave out through the back hallway. His palm was against the door when he heard the light, quick footfall of his son behind him.

"Father," young Will said, his voice almost a bare whisper.

"Yes, Will?" Will replied without turning.

"Can…may…may I help you?"

Will turned in surprise and looked at his son. He looked up and his eyes found Elizabeth's. She widened them and smiled, prodding him into accepting. "Of course."

Will set his son to mixing the mortar as he surveyed how much more brick he would have to lay.

"Is this good?" young Will asked. Will peered into his bucket.

"No. See how there's still dry bits? You need to add some water, but just a little."

Will nodded and trudged off with the bucket to the well pump. Will cringed as his son practically filled the bucket with water. Too much. Will walked over and the boy cowered a bit. He must've feared Will's anger. How very odd. How very inaccurate. As if Will didn't know the power in mistakes. Will looked in the bucket and smiled.

"Too much."

"I'm sorry!"

"It's fine," Will said, laughing and scuffling the boy's hair. Young Will looked up at him in wonder, as though he had been expecting to be slapped. Will kneeled down and tipped the bucket, releasing most of the water.

"See? It's heavy, it stays at the bottom," he said shrugging, "no harm done. Just mix it up."

Young Will opened his mouth to speak and Will watched him expectantly. Finally, his curiosity winning over whatever emotion it was that Will had been seeing, his son spoke.

"What was Jack talking about? Living forever…"

Will sighed and sat on the ground. "What has your mother told you?"

"That…that you were the Captain of the Flying Dutchman. And that there was a duty that you had to attend to for ten years. She told me that by becoming the Captain of the Flying Dutchman, you saved your father. And, that…," the boy hesitated, eyeing Will carefully, "That you loved us and at the end of the ten years you'd come home. And…and we'd all be happy."

Will digested his words carefully. "Are you happy?"

Young Will averted his eyes and thought about it. He shrugged, still refusing to make eye contact. "Do you love us?" he asked quietly.

Will smiled slightly. "More than life itself."

Young Will looked up skeptically. "Are you alive?" he asked boldly, peering at the angry scar just barely visible under his shirt.

Will laughed. It was a question worth asking. Will followed his son's line of vision to his scar. "Have you ever heard of the Dead Man's Chest?"

The boy nodded.

"Of course you have. You've probably seen it." Another nod. "Touched it?" A nod again. "And, so you knew what it contained?"

"Yes."

"But, it's not here anymore, is it?"

Young Will shook his head. "It just…disappeared."

Will took his son's hand and placed it on his chest, his small fingers grazing the glassy, smooth skin of the scar. The boy's eyes widened as he felt the steady thump of Will's heart in his chest.

"I'm alive," he said softly.

"Forever?"

Will laughed and stood up, purposefully leaving the question hanging in midair. Young Will watched him, fascinated. He stood up as well. Will sighed, looking up to the sky.

"We've lost the light," he said lightly.

"I've wasted it," Young Will muttered miserably, almost fearfully.

"No. A waste would have been for us to work in silence. A waste is not saying that which must be said." His face faltered for a moment, as though he had just remembered something. He looked at his son suddenly.

"I love you, Will. I don't know if I'd ever told you, but I do. I should have told you every day since the day we met."

Young Will stood in frozen paralysis for a moment and then dropped his bucket and ran to him, throwing his arms around his father. Will knelt down and they shared a proper hug, the first proper hug they'd ever really shared. Unbeknownst to either of them, the scene had brought tears to a worried woman's eyes and made her heart feel a million pounds lighter.


	3. Elizabeth

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie franchise or any of the characters or dialogue associated with the film. They are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation.**

_AN: Part Three: Elizabeth's (short) perspective. I am feeling disheartened by the whole "curse isn't broken thing". gah._

Elizabeth watched from the window as father and son embraced…finally. She had raised Will to practically worship his father, so the unspoken resentment had been unexpected. Even more unexpected had been Will's silence and detachment from not only their son, but also her. She'd made do for ten years, done the best she could with her limited resources, and now she had a bit of a reputation as a madwoman. A lot of people had doubted that she was married, a lot of men had pushed it too far. Luckily, Will had taught her well and she defended herself admirably.

Will had nearly completed the forge and she knew that he would then spend his time building the smithy around it. Her only concern was that once it was built, he would lose himself in sword-making again, as he had before their first attempted wedding. She could appreciate that he had been through a lot in the last ten years, and that ferrying souls would be the work of only a strong constitution, but she had needs as well. She had imagined that he would need time to adjust to living normally again, and so she gave him the space she felt he desired.

The first night of his return, he had asked young Will question after question, and so he had asked questions in return. When the boy had finally fallen asleep at the table, Will had carried him off to bed and tucked him in lovingly. The whole scene had brought a great hope to Elizabeth's heart. That night, Will had also been particularly attentive to _her_. But, somehow, as the month progressed, he had grown distant. He had detached himself from her and Will in almost every way. He had even gone so far as to distance himself from her intimately instead of running the risk of a pregnancy. Did he not want more children? Did he not want her? Elizabeth suspected that it had to do with his silent need to provide, but she'd made do before, she could do it again.

Meanwhile, young Will resented him for his lack of engagement. Elizabeth had noticed that Will would only really step into the role of parent when he felt that their son had stepped out of line. This morning was a prime example. This worried Elizabeth. It would not build a solid foundation between father and son if the only role Will chose to play was that of the disciplinarian. If she asked him, he was silent on the matter. He would nod in silent understanding, mull over it in silent contemplation, and finally smile in a silent offer of comfort. She loved him despite the maddening silence, but she knew that eventually someone in this house would break. She hadn't even considered that it would be her son. As for Will, it was almost as if he had relapsed into the person that he had been very long ago – burying emotions and holding back for the sake of others. The overall result was exasperating, but she felt as she had back then. She felt that she wanted nothing more than to entice Will Turner from out of the shadows and into her arms.

Elizabeth had hoped that bringing Jack around would have coaxed him out of his shell but, in fact, it had only served to make him more guarded. But, now, at least whatever was being said outside had brought about the collapse of the wall between father and son. It was now up to her to bring down the wall between _them_. They were laughing when they entered the door, and she thought she heard Will talking about Port Royal. Elizabeth hadn't told young Will much of anything about their past. She was not a great storyteller, but rather a relay for facts. Will smiled at her and she couldn't help but return it. There was something in his eyes that reminded her of that desperate battle on the Pearl, ten years ago. It was now or never.

She stood, frozen outside her son's room, listening in silence to Will's story about how they had met and all that had transpired with his father. Young Will had, of course, met his grandfather and so the story was of incredible interest to him. Will was a storyteller, she discovered, smiling to herself. She would have never imagined him for one, but he had been on a ship of pirates for ten years and so must have picked up the art along the way.

He caught sight of her again, as he turned his head, and smiled warmly, his eyes locking with hers. She smiled back sheepishly, embarrassed at being caught in her espionage. As sleep claimed young Will, Elizabeth found herself drawn to the magnetism of her husband. It was as though a floodgate had opened and _Will_ had been released. Without a word, he stood up, walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. He took Elizabeth's hand and led her back to their own room, again closing the door behind him.

He turned quickly and placed his hands on the door behind her, essentially pinning her there. His eyes studied Elizabeth's face intensely.

"Elizabeth, I…"

But she didn't let him finish, covering his mouth with her own. For once, she felt as though she could, as thought it were _allowed._ Will pulled back breathless.

" Elizabeth, I just want to say…," he paused, looking guilty and a little sad. "I love you. I should have been telling you and Will everyday. I'm sorry."

Elizabeth smiled, genuinely, and pressed her body against his. "How sorry are you?" she whispered in his ear. He leaned down and kissed her, reverently but passionately, pressing her into the door. A thought crossed her mind, something that had been weighing on Will's mind that she suddenly remembered. Although it was distinctly against what he body wanted, she pulled back from Will. The last thing she wanted was for this to all go away in the morning and for him to resent her for it. The last thing she wanted was another pregnancy alone.

"Will…what about…what if…?"

Will smiled, knowing what she was asking. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, kissing her softly. "We'll make do, Elizabeth," he whispered.

It was the only reassurance she'd really needed from him before succumbing entirely to the mad passion that she'd always felt towards him.

They'd all slept in, although Elizabeth was the first up. She glanced at Will, peaceful in his slumber, and traced a finger down the scar on his chest, finally pressing her palm to it and feeling the reassuring thump of his heart beneath it. She kissed him lightly and crawled out of bed, dressing with silent aptness. When she reached the kitchen, pattering along silently in bare feet, she glanced out the window. It was a beautiful day and the sun shone intensely already. Was it really that bright, or had her outlook just become that much brighter.

"Good morning, mother," Will said sleepily behind her. She turned to find her son coming towards her, dressed haphazardly and also in bare feet. She smiled. Hang propriety.

"Good morning, Will. I'll have breakfast ready in a few moments," she replied softly. Her ability to prepare meals amazed her. She had been brought up with servants and the very idea of cooking had baffled her at first. It was quite easy, however, once she'd done it a few times.

Breakfast was almost ready when she heard the door click down the hallway. Elizabeth smiled to herself and turned to discover that young Will had decided not to hunch up and stare at the table, but rather had turned as well, a delighted smile on his face. Will entered the room, rubbing his eyes groggily, his feet also bare, and Elizabeth knew that they were already on a different path than the one they had been on yesterday. Will glanced at her and she knew, as her son started talking excitedly to his father, that they were all on the right path…finally.


End file.
